50 Word Stories – Unsatisfactory “Your clothes are drab bordering on bedraggled. Your beard is uncouth, and if anything ages you. As for your face! Have you forgotten what soap and water are? In short, your return is unsatisfactory.” She ranted, and waved her handbag around the arrivals lounge. I replied. “Darling, I’m over here.”
We always said we'd be there to catch each other. You do when you're young and in love. We were so convinced, so sure of our commitment that when we fell, it came as a genuine shock. Well, maybe less so for me. I had my hands behind my back.
￼ We climbed the same hill we had on our first date. Our friends had said it weird to spend our first few hours together sweating our way up a mountain, our little knapsacks bobbing up and down like ducks on our backs. We didn’t care, we were already in love. I remembered the stile […]
￼ Sakura petals A perfect carpet of pink Warmer than the snow Meandering memories Seasons drifting out of time
We move in ever-decreasing circles, you and I. A world without boundaries has contracted with us trapped somewhere at its centre waiting for the fences to fail. Still, not so long ago, we’d have thought to fly, to flee, to never look back and sparkle regardless. Those times are distant memories now. I miss them. […]
Floating on our backs downstream smiling.
She liked talking, me, headphones. Perfect.
Elena's problem was her unwavering refusal to admit I was ever right. If I'd have said stroke my puppy, she'd have said it a cat. She always but always had to be right. That's why when I shouted, 'Watch out for that car!' Well, you can guess the rest.
Helen's amazing skill was her insatiable ability to absorb information, retain it, then expound it at the most cutting times. Fortunately, I had the world's worst memory and forgot everything she said. In many ways, we were the perfect couple though Helen argued different. I think that's what she said!
Her eyes veined red, wide with the mania only insomniacs know, she stumbles through another hazy morning. A pale vampire, a demoness of the dark, she snarls in a rabid baring of incisors. I back away. "Morning, love," I try. "Where's my coffee?" I open the curtains, whilst I can.